


things we lost to the flames;

by bloodynargles



Series: au? au. [3]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: AU, Abuse, Bipolar Disorder, Depression, F/M, Fire, Gen, Neglect, PTSD, freelancer fucked her up, kind of, mature situation at the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-15
Updated: 2014-09-15
Packaged: 2018-02-17 12:10:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2309180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodynargles/pseuds/bloodynargles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She always liked fires, not the explosions, or the pain, just the nice crackle it would make when engulfing wood in the fireplace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	things we lost to the flames;

She always liked fires, not the explosions, or the pain, just the nice crackle it would make when engulfing wood in the fireplace. There's been so many she's been in, some she caused, some she didn't mean to. It was always sweltering heat against her armour, her skin, and everything _burned_. She got burned. They all did.

Its not that they trusted him, they didn't trust anyone, not even themselves, or each other - maybe they walked into the project with the notion that they wouldn't get out of this alive. Some didn't. She walked out of there with so many more problems than she went in with, and even now, that she's settled, they still crop up. They interfere when she's baking, her hands shake and the world around her melts and for a split second she thinks its all a lie, a daydream. Then its gone, and she has to sit down, or get out of the room, just run out into the cold for the drastic temperature difference. Sit there until she can't feel anything or someone finds her and pulls her up, taking her inside. The therapist suggested that she go for runs in the mornings, plug in her earphones to some music, maybe some showtunes, and just run in laps. She likes the time alone she gets in the mornings. Especially with the snow that falls, now, how it coats the trees in white and makes everything fluffy - how it makes the children that play in the neighbour's yard smile and laugh with glee. She likes children. Could never have one to call her own, though.

She doesn't envy the people who came out of the war unscathed, she knows that people deal differently with things, and are different as a whole. She doesn't blame them for leaving her to get on with herself. Never worked well in a team, anyway.

What was left of it.

 

 

They didn't die in fire, they died because of errors, and refusals to go to their aid. Mistakes people made in judgements, misfires, sacrifices. Some bled out on the battlefield, watched their squad die, their friends, others got a bullet to the head, or died before they even knew they were going to. The ones that sacrificed themselves for their team, for a loved one - she could _never_ repay him for that, for his life.

There's another generation in the world, with dreams of fighting aliens and getting away from home, thinking that they would discover things, out there. In the vast space beyond this earth. She wanted to stop them. Tell them that its not that simple, tell them... She doesn't know, what they'd find, or how they'd die, or even if they would die. All she knows is when the kids play humans vs aliens and boast about how they were going to be a space marine when they grew up, she wants to pause time, to snapshot it and give it to them for safe keeping if they ever go off to war. She wants them to remember being a child, remember home and all of its luxuries. Maybe that will pursuade them not to go, or maybe they'll go anyway, chasing their dreams across millions of stars and the planets which havent been discovered yet. She holds in grimances as they make pew pew noises at their friends, and the others play dead. Hopes that maybe they'll drop that childhood dream, but she knows many wont.

She doesn't remember her childhood, doesn't want to. Would rather talk about other things, not how their parents had children for the sake of it, then ignoring them, and pretending that the abuse they suffered on another's hands wasn't their problem. She remembers laughing when her mother died.

Ding dong, the witch is dead.

 

 

The fire makes the room warm, like he did - he made everything warm. Was like a human furnace that curled up to her when she slept, head on his chest, listening to the sound of his steady beating heart. She loved him.

Still does.

 

There's soft footsteps on the wooden floor close to her, and the person they belong to notes the glazed over look in her turquoise eyes, the way tears were close to falling. They sigh, setting down the cups on the table and sit beside her, hand resting on her bare foot, before reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind her left ear. "Its not pink, anymore." She mumbles, the other pulling up their legs onto the couch and seeking close to her, lips pressed to her shoulder and blue eyes looking up to her. "Doesn't have to be." Mumbles against her skin, the vibrations of his voice thrumming throughout her body. "Why'd you stay?" She's still staring into the fire, the flames reflecting off of her eyes, golden flecks coming through the green that he loved so much. "I need you." "Is that it?" His eyelashes tickle her skin as he blinks, closing his eyes to make sure he remembers this moment. "No," North turns his head so his cheek is resting against her shoulder, his hand mindlessly playing with hers. "It'll never be it, Arie."

"I love you." She looks down at him, at the obvious dirt caught in his blonde hair from a day's work, can see the smile on his lips from this angle, and the purple in his eyes as he looks up at her, reaching to press his smile against hers. His kiss presses her down into the pillows of the couch, him hovering over her with a question in his eyes and words on his lips. "I love you too." They sit like that for a minute, their silence only broken by the crackles of the fire seeping into the wood its burning. "North?" "Hmm?" She reaches up to smooth her palm over his shirt, tracing the dips in his chest with her finger as she speaks. "I want to." Purple meets green and there's an 'are you sure?' lingering in his eyes, she nods, skimming her hand up his chest and to his neck, pulling his head down slightly so she could kiss him, the 'yes' hanging in the air as some muffled moans join it.

**Author's Note:**

> things we lost in the fire//bastille {abbey road sessions}  
> \--  
> also inspired by this post: http://thetaspuppy.tumblr.com/post/97544921946
> 
> woop ok


End file.
